Leaving It All Behind
by passerbyinlife
Summary: Will Natasha Romanoff ever be able to truly leave her past behind? (Pre- Avengers)
1. Chapter 1

A huddle of kitchen staff walked in and Natasha Romanoff immediately dropped down and hid herself in a nearby kitchen cupboard. She closed her eyes, and for a second she was six- years- old again, hiding in one of the many spacious kitchen drawers of the Red Room's kitchens, hugging on to a loaf of bread tightly, flinching at the sound of the drawer above her being opened and the sharp cussing of the Red Room's kitchen staff, hoping and hoping that she would not be found.

Meals were scarce and inconsistent in the Red Room. Ma'am told them that it was a test of endurance, a way of preparing them for their future lives. Some followed her orders and gradually weakened until one day, when they were overpowered by their opponent during a fighting session, Ma'am would run her eyes across their skinny limbs and hollowed cheeks and give the nod for the other girl to kill. Others opted to sneak food out of the kitchen and hoard it, Natasha being one of them. It was essential for survival. Yet there were risks, as the punishment for those who were caught was severe- they would have to skip a Treatment.

The Treatment, which consisted of two procedures, was of utmost importance for everyone in the Red Room. The first procedure was the injection, which physically strengthened them. The second procedure was the Machine. It stopped them from thinking too much over events, minimizing distractions and strengthening them mentally in the process. Missing a treatment weakens the one being punished greatly, making it the equivalent of a death sentence for those whom the Red Room consider to be disposable. It nearly happened to Natasha once, and it was an encounter that she would never forget.

The kitchen staff finally left and she squirmed out of her hiding place, gathered her loot and left SHIELD's kitchen. Her little mission was frankly unnecessary- SHIELD had a canteen that she was welcome to access anytime. But after all, old habits had always been hard to break.

It had been one week since Natasha Romanoff joined SHIELD, but Clint had never seen her come down to the canteen to eat. And that was the reason why he was currently crouching on top of her wardrobe, waiting patiently for her return. Finally, the door opened as she slipped into her room, opening up her jacket and allowing a loaf of bread and a number of canned goods to fall onto her bunk. Suddenly, she spun around and threw a can of tuna at him. He failed to duck in time and it hit him in the face. He yelped in pain.

'Barton,' she stated coldly, bristling with hostility, 'Get out of my room.'

She still didn't trust him, and considering everything she had been through, he didn't blame her for it. He jumped down from the wardrobe, landing beside her.

'How long is that-' he gestured at the food, 'Supposed to last you for?'

She narrowed her eyes at him as she answered reluctantly, 'Two weeks.'

'You do realize we have a canteen downstairs with, you know, food of a much higher quality?'

'Yes, I know that.'

'Then, why-'

Natasha moved fluidly across the room, standing protectively in front of her food.

Clint sighed, 'Look, I'm not going to take away your food or anything. Its just- would you like to come down and have dinner in the canteen with me?' She was too thin for her own good, and now he knew why. And despite how her bodily conditions had never hampered her performance in any way, for the sake of her wellbeing, he was not going to allow this to continue.

Natasha noted the determination displayed on Clint Barton's face, decided not to waste her efforts disagreeing with him, and followed him out of the room.

They stepped into the canteen, and immediately the chatter subsided. Natasha could feel their eyes burning into her. Such a reactions was somewhat expected, but the reminder that she was a monster hurt her more than she expected it to. Canned bacon on dry bread had never seemed as appeasing as it did now, and she involuntarily backed away from the doors of the canteen. She felt Clint grip onto her arm as he steered her towards the salad bar as he hissed, 'Ignore them. They don't know a thing about you.'

As if you do, she mused bitterly as she reached for the lettuce.

Admittedly, the food was heavenly. If it hadn't been for the whispering behind her, this would have been the best day of her life. The whispering subsided as she sensed someone approaching them from behind her.

'Get out,' the agent whose name she didn't know of snarled at her.

Clint glared at him menacingly, 'Back off, Truslow.'

'Oh Barton, you trying to impress some girl to get in her panties?'

The next thing Agent Truslow knew, Clint Barton had vaulted across the table and slammed him against the wall, 'Tell me why you have a problem with Natasha Romanoff eating in our canteen.'

'You know her history as well as we all do. She doesn't deserve to be in this canteen with us. She shouldn't even be alive.'

Natasha looked to her side and saw Clint clench his fist. She could tell that he was doing all he could to stop himself from punching Agent Truslow in the face. 'She is not the monster the lot of you think she is. She was a victim. She was brainwashed as a child. Tortured. Starved. Forced to kill. But she survived, and was willing to join the good guys once she had the chance to. I'm not defending her because I have a crush on her. I'm defending her because I think she deserves all this- good food, SHIELD training, a second chance at life- more than any one of you in this room do. So, as I said, Truslow, back off.' He released his hold on Truslow then and sat back down, completely disregarding the dark look the other agent threw at him before slinking back to his seat.

'You didn't have to do that,' Natasha commented drily.

Clint did not respond. They had the rest of their dinner in silence.

It was later when Clint dropped her off outside her room that he finally spoke, 'I'm sorry for what I did back there. I knew that you were perfectly capable of fending for yourself, but Truslow was being a dick and so that happened.'

She looked up at him, her expression imperceptible, 'Did you mean it? Everything that you said back in the canteen?'

'Every word.' He added tentatively, 'Would you be interested in having breakfast with me tomorrow?'

She nodded silently.

'All right then. Good night, Natasha.'

'It's Agent Romanoff,' she replied as she slipped into her room and closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Many had considered Clint stupid for sparing the Widow's life and letting her into SHIELD so easily- how could you possibly know whether she was genuinely interested in being on the good side or if it was her way of infiltrating SHIELD for the sake of the KGB? And every time, Clint gave them the same response, 'Our first encounter had left me doubtless of her longing to become a better person.'

Clint Barton was two hours in his mission to kill the Black Widow when he realised that he was not the only one attempting to perform that task. The Dragon's Eye, one of the many terrorist organizations on SHIELD's hit list, was also hot on her tail, impatient to avenge a brother of theirs who had died in her hands. And after two week, when the Black Widow turned into a back alley that was part of their territory, they finally took their chances with her. Clint Barton took the opportunity to sit aside on a rooftop nearby to observe the Black Widow in action, and he was anything but disappointed by what he saw.

Several men were sent to ambush her from both sides of the alley. Their attempt to take her by surprise was a complete failure- it took her less than two seconds to notice the men behind her and two more to gun down three of them. Another attempted to shoot at her from point blank range, yet she ducked at the last minute and the bullet buried itself in the heart of the man approaching her from behind instead. The shooter yowled in rage as he threw himself at her. She swiftly gutted him and threw him aside. She turned to meet a new surge of men from the other side of the alley, and she could not help but smile. Her mission had been to eliminate the Dragon's Eye, and their blatant stupidity and attachment to their 'brother' was making her job much easier. Yet in a way, their insistence to avenge their brother was somewhat adorable. She knew full well that if she was to die, no one would care. No one would bother to mourn her, much less avenge her. She shook her head to clear it. She was thinking too much. This had been the longest period of time yet that she had gone without Treatment, and as of now her head was cluttered with thoughts that should have normally been repressed by the Treatment. Any other sensible agent of the KGB would have ran off to Treatment the first chance they had, but going without treatment had allowed her clearer access to her memories- access that she had not been able to have for a long time. And that was why despite how going without treatment for so long just might kill her, she was willing to give it a try. She proceeded to throw herself into battle.

As expected, the men were fairly easy to kill. What was unexpected was the shrill little squeal and the mop of brown hair that emerged as she threw a dead agent at a pile of junk nearby. A frightened little girl with shockingly blue eyes emerged from behind an overturned sofa. An agent immediately trained his gun towards the child and the Black Widow swiftly threw herself at him and broke his neck. For Natalia Romanova knew a bit too well what it felt like to be defenseless.

She was seven and had been recently punished for being caught sneaking bread out of the kitchen. The day started the way it always did at 6 o'clock sharp. Her handcuff was loosened and she slowly straightened herself, groggy and disoriented. Skipping a Treatment had left her weak and fatigued, and the steady growling of her stomach was of no help whatsoever. Lilya, a tiny blonde to the left of her, was discreetly eating scraps of bread which she was retrieving from under her pillow. She froze when she noticed Natalia looking at her. A shadow of sympathy crossed her face as she tentatively reached out, a reasonably sized loaf in her hand. Natalia stared at her in disbelief. The sharing of food never happens in the Red Room. After all, one would be aiding a potential opponent- one that may kill you during fight sessions- by doing so. She reached out with trembling hands and grabbed it. It was cold and hard, but that had always been what food was to Natalia for as long as she could possibly remember.

They began with a fighting session that day. Natasha's blood ran cold as Ma'am gave Raina a knife and told her to go into the ring. Knives meant that today was Kill Day, whereas weaker girls would be pitched against stronger girls and forced to fight. Such matches only end when one of the two had been killed. And the weaker girls- the ones the Red Room intended on killing- never win. As for Raina, she was Ma'am's favourite, with the enviable record of winning every match she had ever been in. Those who were to go against her today were definitely going to die.

Ma'am ran her eyes slowly past the girls standing around the arena. It did not take time for Ma'am to decide on which girl to call onto. Everyone knew that everything had already been planned beforehand. 'Lilya Antonova.' A soft sigh of relief passed through the crowd.

It was not entirely unexpected that Lilya would be called upon. She was small for her age and constantly sick. Natalia felt a soft twinge of compassion and sadness, and immediately chastised herself. Yes, Lilya might have given her bread just that morning, but still it was wrong for Natalia to like her. And so she looked on impassively as Lilya walked towards Ma'am and took hold of the knife she was given.

Yet instead of walking to the ring, Lilya simply stood there, next to the weapon table, pale and trembling, the knife in her hand. 'Go on,' Ma'am remarked sharply, 'Don't waste our time.' Lilya looked up at her, her eyes dull and glassy. 'Yes, Ma'am,' she murmured softly. Then she flipped the knife over and plunged it deep into her heart.

A collective gasp echoed through the arena at this act of defiance, followed by whispering which was quelled swiftly by Ma'am's sharp glare. She proceeded to nod at the two men standing by the door. One of them walked in, picked Lilya up and went back out. The other mopped away the blood. Within half a minute, everything was cleared up and it was as if nothing had ever happened.

'Next up,' Ma'am stated briskly, 'Natalia Romanova.' Horror and dread pooled in the base of her stomach as she dragged her heavy legs to the weapons table. She should have expected this. After all, she was far from the strongest girl in the Red Room. She envied Lilya for having the courage to kill herself, for Natalia knew for sure that she would be incapable of doing the same thing. And so she stepped into the ring, bracing herself for the painful death she was to receive within the coming five minutes. Ma'am blew on her whistle and it began.

Raina lunged at her and Natalia ducked, going for Raina's legs so to unbalance her. Yet her lack of Treatment made her body heavy and lacking in agility. She felt Raina slam her fist into her back and then she was on the ground. She heard the sound of the knife swishing down and immediately rolled aside. The knife missed her by inches. She jumped to her feet and aimed a punch of Raina, unwilling to give her a chance to retrieve her knife which was buried in the training mat. Raina ducked it and reached forward nimbly, giving Natalia's wrist a quick twist. That caused Natalia to loosen her grip on her knife, and the next thing she knew it was in Raina's hand and she was left unarmed. Raina ran at her and this time. She failed to duck and was knocked to the ground, Raina and the knife only inches away from her throat. She could see Raina's proud smirk as she glanced at Ma'am almost as if she were asking for permission, as if she had all the time in the world. Natalia felt the fight drain out of her as she was filled with despair. So this was how she was going to die. Pathetic, helpless, easily overpowered by her opponent within less than two minutes. It was then that she saw Raina's knife, stuck in the training mat within arm's reach. Grabbing hold of it, she plunged it into the top of Raina's head. The knife in Raina's hands fell from her hands, nicked Natalia in the right side of her neck and clattered to the ground. Then Raina went limp and fell onto her. Instinctively, Natalia pushed Raina off her and stood back up. Ma'am nodded at her and followed up with an order, 'Go clean up, Natalia. You are done for today.

It was when she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror that she realised that she was coated in Raina's blood from head to toe. She ran into the nearest cubicle and vomited up everything that was in her. She proceeded to shower for thirty minutes straight. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was raw and pink, yet she knew that she would never feel clean ever again.

It was the day after, when she was given treatment and two times the dosage of super- serum compared to other girls, that she realised that her life was not the only reward she got from winning the fight with Raina.

Note: Natalia Aliana Romanova was Natasha Romanoff's original name back in Russia.


	3. Chapter 3

As the man's neck broke with a clean snap, Natalia vaulted off him and ran to the child. 'Stay behind me and I promise that you won't get hurt,' she told the child as she turned to face the crowd of men before her. She gunned down two and tased another three, yet the last one was harder to take down, as he was much stronger than the others and she had been unfortunately disarmed with her gun five feet away from her. It didn't help that she was simultaneously attempting to protect a child- in fact it made things much harder. She could no longer jump or duck or take the man by surprise for fear of hurting the child. He punched her in the shoulder and she shifted slightly, reaching for her gun as she did so. He swiftly pulled a small knife from his belt and threw it at her. She was forced to shy back to the left and that distanced her from her gun even more. He then threw some form of powder on her face and everything around her was reduced to a blur. She heard a gunshot go off and moved towards the girl, gasping in pain as she felt a bullet bury itself into her right side.

When the effects of the powder finally subdued, she noted the barrel of a gun pressed against her temple and her blood ran cold. She was going to die. She hoped that the SHIELD agent perched on the rooftop nearby would be willing to help the little girl behind her after she was killed. She silently readied herself for what was to come.

The man before her suddenly emitted an odd gagging noise and when she looked down, she saw an arrow protruding through his chest, its tip barely grazing her catsuit. The man crumpled to the ground as she jumped out of the way. Immediately, she turned back to the little girl behind her. 'It's okay now. I'm so sorry that you were caught up in this. The bad men are all gone. You can go now.' The child shot her a mute, bewildered glance, took a few steps back, then turned and ran away as quickly as her little legs could carry her. A small, sad smile crossed Natalia's face before a pang of pain made her grimace. Right, the bullet. But as of now, there were more important things that she had to deal with. Whipping around, she raised her gun towards the roof of the building to the right of her, 'Clint Francis Barton, SHIELD agent. You were sent to kill me.'

'Yes, I was.'

'You saved me back there.'

'I did.'

'Why?'

'I don't know.'

For a moment, they stood there in absolute silence. Natalia was the one who broke it by raising her gun and shooting at him three times. Clint dropped to the ground swiftly. By the time he had straightened himself and ran back to the ledge of the building, she was already gone and nowhere to be seen.


	4. Chapter 4

Natalia gritted her teeth as she pulled the bullet out of herself with a tweezer. She'd had worse but it still hurted like hell. The way her head ached really wasn't of much help, and she glanced at the little bottle on her bedside table, the one with her Treatment pills in it. But she couldn't do it anymore, she reminded herself as she got into bed. The pills were indeed capable of making her forget the terrible things she had done for a couple of days or so, yet every time its effects wore off, the worse she felt. She was tired of it all, of running from her own thoughts and having them catch up with her every single time. She had heard of the rumours of what happened to agents who had skipped their medications one time too many, yet she was not afraid. She would rather die than continue living this life.

There was a time when she used to believe that everything she was doing was for a greater good. Yet as the years went by, she began to doubt it. There was no greater good burning down a village could possibly bring, nor could gunning down a family of government dissidents, along with their three year old son. She remembered the mother of that family throwing herself in front of her children. She could also remember shooting the woman in the head, kicking her dead body aside and completing the mission. The medication in Natalia's system had allowed her to complete the mission successfully. The multiple doses of pills had also given her an endless supply of nightmares throughout the years.

She heard a soft thump coming from the closet of her safehouse. She sat up immediately, crept towards it and flung the door open. The closet was full of corpses, eyes wide, dripping with blood, one stacked on top of another. The numerous girls she had killed during fighting sessions in the Red Room, the endless list of people she had killed for the KGB, the ones that had gotten in the way when she was trying to complete her mission. The tower of bodies began to wobble, and before she could get out of the way, it fell onto her, and the stench of blood and rot filled her mouth and nose. Desperately, she willed herself to claw her way out of this mountain of flesh, yet try as she might, she couldn't move. The walls of flesh pressed closer and closer and closer and it was getting harder and harder for her to breathe. Terror filled her and she began to scream and scream and scream.

She woke up with a start, panting and gasping for air. It was just a dream. It was all just a dream. She closed her eyes and forced herself to go back to sleep. Like it or not, she needed it before the next day began, for the SHIELD agent would be on her tail once again.

The next dream that came to her was her very first mission. It was during the Children's War and she was nine. She was the very first agent they sent out. She was given a metallic box and her mission was to attach that to the control room of the hospital. She was instructed to run away as quickly as she could right after the task was completed. She did not bother to question them, for she knew that she would not be given the answers anyway. She simply opted to obey and complete the mission.

Sneaking in was easy- she was a child after all and no one pays attention to children. Furthermore, kitchen raids had given her more than enough practice when it came to sneaking around undetected. Unfortunately, the control room was occupied. She whipped out her gun, took two clean shots, and the men within the room collapsed soundlessly. She had been given a treatment directly before the mission, and her remorse was swiftly drowned by a sense of success, power and control. She proceeded to attach the box to the control panel, then she turned and ran out of the hospital as quickly as her legs could carry her.

She concealed herself behind a building nearby, and began to speculate over what the box was capable of as she waited. Maybe it would kill off all the power within the building, or maybe it would be able to retain essential information for KGB. She felt proud of herself- proud for assisting her government in its quest for glory.

A loud boom sounded as the hospital crumbled and she finally realised what the box was. She looked on, unable to move, as the dust settled. She looked on at the little boy at the far end of the rubble as he tugged and tugged his lifeless mother's hand. She looked on at the old couple who had just been walking on the sidewalk outside the hospital just moments ago, their hands still tightly intertwined as they lay by the sidewalk, their faces oddly peaceful. She saw a father, his body spread- eagled over his pregnant wife in a futile attempt to save them. She also saw the less lucky ones, who were now nothing more than scraps of flesh and blood sticking to the little of what was left of the hospital. Her mission was complete, a cold voice informed her through her earpiece. And so she turned back and went back to their rendezvous spot.

She wakes up with a start once again, the pungent smell of self hatred and disgust in her mouth. She grabs the handgun under her pillow, pushes its cold muzzle down her throat. She tries to pull the trigger- she tries with all her might, but a wave of fear gushes up her throat and she vomits all over the floor, dropping the gun onto the ground simultaneously. Pathetic, she tells herself, you're pathetic.

And suddenly everything clears and she finally realises what she has to do. Her mission gifted themselves to her today. Now was time for her to pass that favour on to somebody else.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint woke up to the feeling that there was something very, very wrong. Sitting up swiftly, he grabbed the revolver hidden in the folds of his bedsheets and directed it to the darkest corner of his room instinctively. There was a soft click, and the lamp at that corner of the room was switched on. Natalia Romanova was sitting on his armchair, unarmed, her hands gripping on to the armrests so tightly her knuckles were white.

'I come here in peace,' Natalia stated.

'Considering your track record, that's a fairly hard thing to believe.'

'It took you five whole minutes to notice my presence. There would have been plenty of time for me to kill you if I had wanted to do so.'

'Fair point.'

'I want to help you complete your mission.'

A flash of surprise crossed his face and he narrowed his eyes, 'My mission is to kill you.'

'I know that. On your bed table you will be able to find a bottle of pills. Destroy them for me after you kill me.'

'And why would I do that?'

'The pills strengthen me mentally by stopping me from thinking certain things- all KGB agents get them. I think you Americans have a word for that- brainwashing, am I right? These are dangerous in the wrong hands. That is why I want you to destroy them.'

'No, I wasn't talking about the pills. Why should I kill you?'

'It's your mission. Now is your chance to complete it.' She stood up, leaning against the wall, her arms tense at her sides. 'I do believe that this will be able to provide you with clear enough a shot?'

'How do I know that this isn't a trap? Why on earth would you want to die?' He was a very meticulous and cautious agent. She approved of that.

'As you know, I have a lot of red in my ledger. And if I continue staying alive, the amount of blood in it will only increase. And I'm tired of it all. I need to clear my ledger. And that is why I would like you to kill me. Not only would you be completing your mission, you'd also be doing me a favour.'

He didn't react in any way or move at all. He just sat there, his gun pointed at her, his face unreadable.

'Go on,' she murmured, fighting every urge within her to duck, to run, to hide, to survive. 'Kill me.' Her patience was running out. She felt a flare of anger run through her. 'Kill me,' she squeezed out through gritted teeth, her voice slightly raised. Yet Clint Barton still did not react. A wave of emotions slammed into her- anger, fear, hatred, irritation, sadness, guilt- and the next thing she knew she was shouting, 'Just kill me, goddamit. The least you could do would be to be quick with it!' Two lines of tears ran down her eyes and she rubbed them away quickly, angry and ashamed at herself.

He finally cocked his gun. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. Even more tears made their way down her face. She heard the sound of a gunshot as something slammed into her chest. Hard. Good shot, she mused as darkness clouded her vision and everything faded into nothingness.


	6. Chapter 6

She was lying on something soft, and everything around her was vibrating slightly, almost as if she were on a plane. That was definitely not what death was supposed to feel like. she opened her eyes. She was in a holding cell of a helicarrier, and the SHIELD agent was staring intently at her at the foot of the bed.

'You were supposed to kill me.'

'I chose not to. That was a stun gun.'

'Why?'

'You wanted to clear your ledger, not die.'

Oh.

'You're bringing me back to SHIELD.'

'Yes.'

No. To her, SHIELD was no different from the KGB. They would have her do the only thing she knew, the thing she was created for. She would not adhere to that. She would _make_ them kill her before she allowed them to pour even more red over her ledger. It was then that she realizes that there was a handcuff binding her to the bed. A chill ran down her spine and she stiffened. She gestured at it, 'What's that for? I surrendered.'

'SHIELD protocol, just in case you change your mind.'

She snorted derisively. 'I won't. Take it off me.'

'Sorry, not an option.'

'Fine.' Her eyes darkened, and she flexed her hand, exhaled, and slipped her hand out of the handcuff. Throwing it aside, she lay back down, resting her hands at her sides.

'You don't just dislike handcuffs,' he observed, 'You're afraid of them.'

She allowed the silence to linger between them. There was no way in hell she would tell him the reason behind all that. She really should work with hiding her fear of handcuffs chained to beds, she mused. But never had she encountered handcuffs in her former ops (gangsters preferred to use rope) and never had anyone been considerate enough to give her a bed. To her relief, he didn't follow up on that, and after a few more minutes, he stood up and left them room silently.

She was twelve when it happened. The Red Room used to handcuff everyone to their beds every night to prevent them from escaping. But all that changed within the span of one night.

She was woken up that night with the stifling smell of smoke. She opened her eyes and sat up, her hand twisted awkwardly behind her due to the constraints of the handcuff. The girls around began to wake up, bleary- eyed and confused. 'Fire!' a girl near the doorway yelled as she looked out into the corridor. Everyone began to tug frantically at their handcuffs. Two matrons came by respectively and threw their key at the row of girls they were in charge of and proceeded to run away swiftly (the locks differed for each row of girls and different matrons were in charge of different rows). Keys were thrown around, and the ones who managed to free themselves scampered out of the room immediately. There was one who stayed though, a girl whose twin, Yulia, slept to the right of Natalia. Both Yulia and Natalia's matron did not come for them, hence they were still chained to their beds. Inna pushed and pulled at Yulia's handcuff as Yulia shouted at her again and again to leave when she still could. Inna eventually gave up, pecked Yulia tearily on both cheeks as a final goodbye, and ran out of the room.

The fire had gotten worse, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Natalia pushed and pulled at her handcuff, yet it refused to budge in any way. She yanked and yanked at her hand, but to no avail. Screams of desperation and fear echoed through the room, and she was on the verge of screaming herself. She didn't want to die. She inhaled deeply, desperate for any trace of oxygen that might still exist in the room. The smoke choked her and she began to cough and cough and cough. She felt something loosen around her wrist and she realised that she had somehow slipped her hand out of the handcuff. She got to her feet. Yulia shouts at her next to her, _Natalia how did you do that. Please, please help me._ She responds with the truth, _I don't know. I don't know what I did._ She swiftly began to make her way out of the room. _Please Natalia,_ Yulia shouted after her, _please tell me how you did it. Please, I don't want to die._ Gradually, others join in. _Please Natalia. Natalia. Natalia. Natalia._ She tried, with one of the girls nearby. Yet despite how hard she pulled and pulled, she failed to loosen the handcuff. A burning plank crashed down right outside the door of the room. The fire was closing in. She had to leave. _I'm so sorry,_ she told the girl as she stepped back helplessly. And she ran as quickly as she could, out of the room, out of the building, shouts of _why Natalia why please Natalia no Natalia please don't leave me here_ echoing behind her.

She joined the other survivors in the courtyard. There were twenty- eight other girls and most of the Red Room staff. They looked on silently as the building burnt down. Inna was crying softly, yet she stopped when a pale- faced Ma'am threatened her to shut up unless she wanted to end up with the same fate as her sister's. The fire eventually reached the bedroom and the screams of fear turn to yowls of pain until they finally broke off and deafening silence washed over everything.

The last 29 were sent to the backroom of the Bolshoi theatre where the Black Widow training program continued, while the existence of the others who died were removed from all government records. Natalia never saw any of the Red Room staff after that. Not Ma'am, not the cooks, not any of the matrons. She knew that they were dead. They had failed their mission, and death had always been the punishment for failing one's mission.


	7. Chapter 7

Once they reached SHIELD, Natalia was escorted into a room and strapped to a huge machine- presumably a lie detector. Little did they know that she had long since been trained to handle such equipment. Nick Fury then entered the room. They had never met before, but she had heard of his name and his various achievements. He put a clear vial of liquid on the table and moved to sit across from her. 'Drink,' he ordered.

'What is that?'

'A truth serum.'

As if that was going to work on her. The Treatments had long since made her immune to many substances, including all known 'truth serums'. The KGB had made sure of that. And so she reached forward for the bottle, drained it, and began to speak. This was an opportunity for her to finally complete the mission she had given herself, for her to finally get them to kill her.

She told him how she was sent by the KGB to infiltrate SHIELD and retain information about its projects. She told him how she was to assassinate him after she had completed her mission. The lie detector blipped on steadily. Not even her eyelid flickered. Fury looked on at her, impassive. Halfway through, he reached forward and unplugged the lie detector. Then he raised his hand at her, a signal for her to stop talking. She complied.

'You are an amazing liar. You also have one hell of a death wish,' he stated.

She studied him, silent, confused.

'That was no truth serum, just flavoured water.'

Oh.

They proceeded to have a talk that lasted for a long, long time. She liked him. She didn't trust him, of course, but she approved of what he hoped to achieve. Maybe, just maybe, working for SHIELD would differ from working with the KGB. Maybe one day, she would truly be able to clear her ledger.

Clint Barton was assigned to be her supervisor as she breezed through SHIELD's mandatory tests within a week's time. He regularly sparred with her and went through SHIELD protocol with her. She liked him. He was one of the very few men she knew who were willing to be around her not because he hoped to get in bed with her one day, but because he genuinely wanted to know her. He cared about her. He'd insist on certain things, such as her getting proper food for meals, but he also respected her boundaries and refrained from nosing around. On some occasions, it was almost as if he understood her, as if he'd once lived a similar life. She had tried to find out more about his past. Hacking into the SHIELD database was easy. Yet when she had located Clint Barton's file and opened it, a pre- programmed note popped up:

Agent Romanoff,

I believe that Agent Barton would appreciate it if you were to ask him directly instead.

Nick Fury

She had been given the option to continue looking through the file, yet she chose not to. He had respected her privacy ever since they met, and she saw no reason to violate his. As the days passed by, his stern demeanour gave way to a more playful, approachable one, followed by a barrage of bad puns (she was the only one he was willing to show that side of him to). She, in turn, became less hostile, and her dark humour became a constant source of entertainment for him.

One day, they were having dinner in the canteen when a food fight amongst a number of new agents broke out in the middle of the room. A number of other agents gradually joint in, until at one point even senior agents such as Coulson and May were subtly flicking peas at each other. Natasha (Barton was the one who decided to 'Americanize' her name, and she didn't mind much) smiled wistfully at them. She envied them for how happy they were.

Then a splotch of mashed potato landed on her cheek. She spun around, and there was Barton, a devilish smirk on his face, a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. She realised that he wasn't sure if she was going to take it well. And so she laughed, flicking her hair back with one hand as she reached for her spaghetti with her other, 'You are so dead, Barton.'

That night was the best night of her life. It was a horrendous waste of good food, but then she had never had so much fun before.

She easily passed the customary SHIELD tests with flying colours and was finally qualified to take on proper missions, with Clint Barton as her partner. She had never worked with a partner before. Now that was going to be interesting.

Her first mission came in the middle of the night, as insistent poking at her side woke her up from her sleep (she had long since associated SHIELD with safety, and gradually got around to letting her guard down when she slept. It helped with the nightmares.)

'Romanoff. Romanoff.'

'What the hell, Barton?' she grouched, refusing to open her eyes. 'It's two in the morning.' She didn't need a clock to know the time.

'Come on, Romanoff. Wakey wakey.'

She reluctantly opened one eye.

'Roman- on,' he chuckled at his own joke. 'You get it? Roman- off, Roman- on.'

She slipped out a knife from below her pillow, pointing in menacingly at his private parts, 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't chop your dick off, Barton.'

'Because it's nice and I like it,' his tone then changed to a more formal one, 'You're getting your first SHIELD mission, Romanoff. Pack a bag, bring a formal dress, and meet me in the hangar in five minutes.'

She pulled herself up, 'Aye aye, captain.'

They met three minutes later in the hangar. He set the helicarrier on autopilot and moved to hand her the file regarding the mission. The mission was to retrieve a ballerina with unknown superpowers during her performance the coming night and bring her back to base. Natasha pushed down the sense of dread and fear as she noted the word 'ballet', as she closed the file and handed it back to Barton with steady hands. She was certain that, despite her past, she would be able to handle this mission properly.


	8. Chapter 8

They strolled into the theatre, Clint in a suit, Natasha in a fiery red ballgown, under which she had strapped an array of weapons. As they were posing as a couple, Barton had placed his hand gently on her waist. He was polite enough not to grope about, and she was thankful of it. They took some time mingling about, noting the exits, careful of the security cameras.

'We aren't the only ones,' Natasha murmured at Clint as she inclined her head towards a number of men in black suits standing stiffly by the side.'

Coulson, their handler, spoke in their comms then, 'We realised that too. Plans changed. You guys will have to go get her during intermission.'

'Copy,' Clint stated as he followed up quickly with 'Am I right, baby?' at Natasha as one of the men in black walked towards them.

Natasha caught up with that quickly enough, 'Of course you are, you always are.' She then shot a dangerously sweet smile, making him wonder if she was going to maim him after the mission was over for calling her that- he normally wasn't even allowed to call her by her first name.

They entered the theatre and then the performance began. Clint could not help but note how tense Natasha was for the entire time. When complicated, painful looking motions were performed, the audience ooh-ed and ahh-ed whilst Natasha flinched. She shivered every time a new song began. It was almost as if the recital itself was inflicting pain upon her. She was good at hiding it, at acting as if all was normal, but Clint had always had a good eye, hence nothing she did went amiss from him.

The first intermission began and they slipped out of their seats. They turned the corner and slipped into the backstage area. They caught a glimpse of a number of suited men further in front of the corridor. Shooting a glance at each other, they grasped onto their respective weapons and continued down the corridor.

They were halfway down some corridor when Clint suddenly pushed her against a nearby wall and kissed her. Natasha instinctively reached for her knife strapped at her leg when she caught a glimpse of two suited men turning down a nearby corridor. And so she pushed herself against him, buried her hands in his hair and allowed her natural instincts to take over. The men came over and one of them cleared his throat.

'I'm sorry, but only authorized personnel are allowed here.'

'Oh I am so sorry,' Clint apologized offhandedly. 'We needed someplace private, you see.' Natasha giggled in response, pecked him once again on the lips and pulled at his hand gently, 'Come on, let's go somewhere else.'

'Yeah, let's,' he responded as he pushed away from the wall. As they walked by the guards, their hands still intertwined, they simultaneously pulled out their handguns and shot. Both guards crumpled to the ground.

At that, Clint turned towards her, 'Sorry about what I did there. Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable, lowering their wariness in the process, and I didn't want to give them the chance to contact others.'

'If I hadn't known that you'd be dead by now.'

'It would have been a pretty nice way to die,' he responded teasingly.

'Tell Carlos Montgomery that,' she said. Carlos Montgomery was how she ended up on SHIELD's radar. He was a US government official who got a little bit too handsy with her. His personality made completing the job much more easier for her.

They turned the final corner and got a clear view of the men in suits standing at the door of the ballerina's room.

'Shoot to kill, don't give her a chance to even get out of her chair,' one of the men told the others.

Natasha and Clint shot a look at each other and honed in. Natasha shot thrice, and three men crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Clint whipped out his bow and took out two others. Then the ballet music playing from the loudspeakers changed once again. From the corner of his eye, Clint saw a tremor run through his partner's body, the strongest one yet. She slowed and at that one of the men threw a short blade at her. She noted the eerie purple glow at the tip of the blade. There was poison on it. But there was no time for a clean duck. At that, an arrow flew from the side and pinned the blade to the wall on the other side of the room. She swiftly raised her handgun and shot the man, spinning around and taking down another. She turned to look at Clint. Shooting the arrow that saved her life (yet again) had placed him at a disadvantage and there was a nasty gash on his forearm. Two men launched themselves at Clint directly, and his eyes widened with fear as he realised the situation he was in. He couldn't duck, for that would mean giving them clear access to the door and the ballerina behind it. He could, of course, disarm one of them but the other was definitely going to stab him. Probably in somewhere fatal. But then was that not exactly what he signed up for? And so he gritted his teeth and turned towards the man on the right. He plunges an arrow into the man's heart and braces himself for the cold muzzle of the shotgun the other man had to press against his back. But surprisingly,that did not happen. He turned around and saw his partner, wiping a bloody knife with the jacket that once belonged to the man that was originally at his left. The man concerned was now lying lifeless on the floor, his shotgun kicked to the other end of the room.

'Coast's clear,' Natasha commented.

'I'll go get her,' Clint told her, 'Go and ready the helicarrier. Backup for them may be coming soon.'

She nodded and swiftly slipped away. The quicker she could leave this blasted place that reminded her a bit too much of her past, the better.


	9. Chapter 9

After he was done with his task of calming the ballerina, Clint located Natasha, who was curled up on the couch in the living room section of the helicarrier. He sat down next to her silently. After a period of silence, Natasha eventually began to speak, 'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'Saving my life back there.'

'Same for you.'

His shoulder pressed against hers gently, reassuringly. 'I was-' she started. Her voice cracked and she lowered her head in shame.

'Natasha?' Clint asked. For the very first time, she did not correct him. No 'It's Romanoff' or 'fuck off, Barton'. She simply stayed silent for some more time, until finally she took a deep breath and began her story. He deserved to know.

After she was transferred from the Red Room to Bolshoi Theatre, she had (for a very brief period of time) hoped that life would become better, that maybe she could stop killing everyone around her and just prance about on stage. She couldn't have been more wrong. Not only did the training to become a spy continue, she also had to train as ballerinas in the most painful ways possible whilst being told that it would make her better as an agent, and for the sake of the glory of the KGB she decided to comply. In retrospect, the ballerina training had indeed helped. It was the reason why she could creep up behind people without them noticing (her lithe steps had been a result of sleepless nights and endless training, with painful punishments as a bonus if anything went wrong), why she could endure all kinds of pain under torture without breaking (for she had been through so much worse), why she could act so well (she would have to perform at night, a smile plastered to her face, despite how in reality the last thing she felt like doing was to smile).

All major ballet songs she knew could be traced to one painful memory or another, and watching the performance just now when they had to retrieve the ballerina with special powers was the equivalent of reliving it all. Yet the song that managed to trigger the most painful and vivid memory would be the one played during the finale, when they were fighting, when if it had not been for Clint and his arrow, she would have been dead by now.

That particular song was being played on loop one sunny afternoon (ballet songs were constantly being played on loop during the Black Widow program, so to make them seem like a ballet theatre), when she was summoned into Madame's office. She was thirteen then. She was led down a corridor to a black door and handed a gun. She had never used a gun before. She was given an earpiece, and she put it on. 'Open the door,' Madame told her. And so she did.

Drakov's six years old daughter was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room. Her father had angered the KGB, and just days ago Natasha was sent out to lure the child into the Bolshoi theatre with the promise of kittens and sweets. The child started to scream hysterically once she saw Natasha. Madame's clear voice came through the earpiece then, 'Shoot the child.'

Natasha hesitated. She had, of course, killed before. Yet the girls she had murdered on the training mat of the Red Room had been for the sake of self defence, and as for the hospital bombing, she didn't know that it would happen. This time was different. No it isn't, a voice within her head tells her, if you don't kill her, someone else will. Drakov's daughter had died the moment she set foot into this theatre. And so Natasha held up the gun with shaking arms. The child became hysterical then, 'No no no no no,' she screamed. Natasha took her first shot.

It was no clean shot- she had never used a gun before and she had no idea how to aim. The bullet lodged itself into the left shoulder of the child, and she began to yowl in pain. Natasha took a second shot then, desperate to end it all. That bullet missed the child entirely for Natasha's hands were shaking too badly. The third shot went a bit too low, and Drakov's daughter continued shrieking as the bullet buried itself into her chest. Natasha pulled at the trigger once again. There were no more bullets. Two men entered the room then, inspected the child's wounds, and left shortly afterwards. They did not treat her. Madame's voice rang once again in Natasha's earpiece. 'Broken collarbone, perforated lung. You have failed the child, and she will die a painful death because of you.' Natasha turned towards the door, and immediately Madame began to laugh chillingly, 'Oh no, dear. You will have to stay and watch. This is a lesson about how important it is to shoot accurately.' And so Natasha stood there, looking on as the child continued screaming and screaming and screaming until she finally began to gasp for air. Blood began to come out of her mouth then. It was choking her. And all Natasha could do was stand there and watch, until finally, the child's head drooped down and the screaming that once rang in her ears was replaced by deafening silence. But never would Natasha ever be able to forget the screaming, the gagging, the laboured wheezing. Never would she be able to forget the image of the bloody child, strapped to a chair, limp and lifeless in the middle of a spotless white room. Never would she forget how it was all because of her incapability to grant the child a quick death.

It was then that Clint reached over and squeezed her shoulder silently. She silently thanked him for knowing that words of comfort were worthless, that all she needed was a listening ear, someone who could understand.

'Now do you plan on dealing with that gash on your left arm, or do you just plan on bleeding out?' she commented lightly.

He looked down at it carelessly and chuckled, 'Good to know that you're feeling somewhat better.' He then stood up and left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months and Natasha was eventually trusted enough to be assigned individual missions. Clint and her still stayed close, and one was always at the gate when the other came back from a mission.

She easily completed all the missions she had to, until one day, a complication occurred and she was caught. Getting out of the cell she was confined in was easy, as was gunning down the guards. Yet once she reached the gates of the gang's camp, she noted that the camp was situated in a desert. Sand stretched out into the horizon for as far as she could see. Throwing a glance back at her pursuers, she realised that into the desert was the only way she could go. And so she hopped onto a nearby truck and began to drive. She was miserably lost within a day. Thankfully, there were rations in the back seat of the truck- a small knapsack of water and some bread. That would be able to last her for some time. She sent a signal to SHIELD, but she didn't really expect any reply. This mission did not have an excavation team. She had always known that.

Days passed as the truck ran out of oil and her rations gradually dwindled till nothing was left. Natasha lay against the desert ground, drained, parched, starving. She had survived all kinds of torture, the worst of ambushes, and now, she was going to perish in the hands of Mother Nature. She mused over how oddly fitting it was as she gradually drifted into unconsciousness.

She vaguely remembered being picked up from the sand as she struggled as a familiar voice murmured, 'Hush, hush, I'm here now'. She vaguely remembered a blanket and water and some food, but that was all she could get together before everything faded into black once again.

She woke up some time later on the bed of a SHIELD helicarrier. There was a cup of water on her bedside table, along with a note. 'DRINK' was scrawled in messy, familiar handwriting on it. She smiled slightly and drank it up. Pulling her blanket around her, she shuffled out of the room in search for Clint.

He was sitting on the floor of the training room, sharpening his arrows. 'You're up,' he stated as she entered the room.

'Hey,' she sat down beside him.

'You all right?' He looked over at her.

'There wasn't supposed to be an extraction team,' she murmured softly.

'You weren't back when you were supposed to. I got worried.'

There was this odd taste in her mouth. If this had been the Black Widow program, no one would have cared. In sensitive cases, the KGB would send assassins in to kill the failed agent. She had nearly died once because of that.

'You got worried,' she murmured.

'It may have included some yelling at Fury and stealing a helicarrier,' he added abashedly.

She shifted slightly towards him, 'You care.' It was such an odd concept.

He reached over tentatively, putting his arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. Gently, he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and pressed his lips gently against her forehead. She leaned against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it went thudthudthud, holding tight onto her only anchor to this mess of a world.


	11. Chapter 11

'You're hurt. You should be going to the medics to get them to patch you up.'

Natasha ignored him, marching swiftly towards the smaller hospital room in which agents used to treat minor wounds without the help of medical staff. Clint had been on her tail the moment she got off the helicarrier after her most recent mission.

Clint was concerned. It took him one glance to notice how Natasha was a shade too pale, how she was limping a bit too much. She must have been wounded pretty badly. 'Natasha, please, just go to the medical room. At least let them examine you.'

She shot a glare at him, 'No.'

She walked into the hospital room, entered a cubicle and pulled the curtain close. Clint did not miss how she winced after she completed the action as he slipped into the room after her.

Throwing a furious scowl at him, she turned her back to him and unzipped her catsuit. That was nothing new. They had stripped in front of each other multiple times- missions rarely allowed them that much time to change. Natasha heard Clint suck in a breath between his teeth as he saw the wound on her back. She tried to turn around, yet an intense ripple of pain (now that her adrenaline rush was wearing off) stopped her from doing so. But there was no way in hell that she would ask Clint Barton for help. Gritting her teeth, she tried to twist her head back to examine her wound once again. Clint moved forward at that, 'Lie down. You're opening up your wound even more, Natasha. Lie down.'

She studied him for a moment., and came to the conclusion that continuing to oppose him would lead to nothing good.

'I don't want any of the medical staff in here,' she murmured in defeat as she obediently allowed him to help her onto the medical table.

'I'll be the one to stitch you up, okay?' he said. Noting the tension in her shoulders, he added softly, 'Trust me, Natasha. I won't hurt you in any way. Please.'

She nodded reluctantly.

Clint took what he needed from the medical cupboard and headed back. As he dipped a swab of cotton in the alcohol, he noted how Natasha had tensed up once again. Of course. She was nervous because she couldn't see what he was doing to her. And so he added soothingly, 'I'm going to put some alcohol in your wound to make sure that it won't get infected. You okay with that?'

'Yeah,' she responded.

He narrated every single one of his actions as he continued treating her, until finally he had completed his job of patching her up.

'Let me get you some new clothes. Your catsuit is bloody.'

He came back swiftly with her t-shirt and shorts and threw them at her. She tried to put the shirt on yet as she stretched upward she felt her wound reopening. She looked hesitantly at Clint. He took a step forward and helped her with it.

He pulled it over her head, moving his hands slightly to the side to avoid touching her breasts. Clint Barton was a tease at times, but he had always been the perfect gentleman. She liked that. She did not let go of his hand after he helped her down from the medical table. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at that, yet he did not say anything and chose to squeeze her hand gently instead.

'You should go get some rest before debriefing in the morning,' he told her.

'Okay.' And so they headed back to her room.

They made their way down the hallway to her room just like that, their hands tightly intertwined. He stopped as he reached her door. 'Can you stay?' she asked tentatively. He nodded wordlessly, and she pulled him into her room.

As they sat down onto her bed, Natasha began to speak, 'I didn't just refuse to go get the medical staff because I had an ego to protect or whatnot.'

'That's new,' he said teasingly.

'Dammit, Clint. You just ruined that little moment we had,' she pouted as she pulled her hand away from his.

He began to chuckle softly and she joined in soon afterwards. They then fell silent. Natasha's eyes were downcast, and the way she was repeatedly rubbing her palm against her knee was enough to tell him that she was taking one hell of a trip down memory lane. All of a sudden, she flinched. 'Nat?' he asked tentatively. She slowly slipped her hand back into his and began with her story.


	12. Chapter 12

She was fifteen and had just completed a mission. Entering through the back door of the Bolshoi theatre, she wiped the blood of her body with a towel hanging nearby and slipped into the medical room to tend to her wounds. She was reaching for a band- aid when she noticed how her hand was trembling, how she could feel bile rising up her throat. Dammit. It was happening again. Her mission had forced her to push her Treatment time back for several weeks, and because of that she was finding it difficult to hold it all together. She fitted herself into one of the empty lower shelves of a cupboard at the back of the room, closed the cupboard door and leaned back against the back of it, silently composing herself mentally. Breathe in, breathe out. You did what you had to do. Breathe in breathe out. The man deserved to die. Breathe in breathe out. Remember that you are doing this for the greater good. Breathe in breathe out. Mrs would be proud. Breathe in breathe out.

It was then that she heard a creak as the door to the medical room opened once again. 'All clear,' that was Bartholomew, one of Mrs's 'bodyguards'. Natasha looked through the gap of the closet as Mrs entered the room soon after, flanked by four other bodyguards, followed by Karolina, one of the top spies in the Black Widow program, only a year younger than Natasha herself.

'Get on the bed face down,' Mrs told Karolina briskly. Karolina did so obediently. 'Today,' Mrs began to pace around the room, 'We are here to try something out, to make you faster, stronger, better.'

'Thank you, Mrs,' Karolina responded.

Mrs nodded curtly and her bodyguards moved forward swiftly to cuff Karolina's limbs to the four posts of the bed. Karolina's eyes widened in surprise but she did not say anything. Four doctors entered soon afterwards, and at that Mrs exited the room and headed to the spectators room next door.

Natasha was stuck. She could sense that what was happening in the room was of utmost sensitivity, that if her presence was to be noticed, she would be killed immediately. And so she curled up in the corner of the cupboard, breathing as quietly as she could, hoping and hoping that she would not be found.

The doctors were eerily silent as they circled around Karolina, strapping her to various machines. All of a sudden a doctor whipped out a scalpel, digged it into Karolina's leg, and then she began to scream and scream and scream. Natasha pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp. What the hell was happening here? The doctors did not seem to be concerned by Karolina's screams, and they continued with what they were doing, cutting into her leg, pushing the skin aside, examining it, until suddenly a doctor reached out and sawed at something inside Karolina's leg. A sharp snap rang through the room as the surgeon reported, 'We've cut through the leg muscle. Move on to stage two.' Karolina stopped screaming then and fell silent. She must have fainted, Natasha thought.

The surgeons moved on upwards to her torso. Natasha heard the sharp snapping of bones, Karolina's screeches of shock as the pain pushed her in and out of unconsciousness, her pleas of 'stop, please stop' as the doctors went on, ignoring her completely. Natasha was numb with shock. There was more snapping, then the sound of drilling, and that finally stopped and was replaced by the monotonous beep of the heart monitor. '

Patient has flatlined,' one of the surgeons stated.

Mrs's voice rang through the room once again, 'She wasn't meant to survive it. You have one week to improve on the procedure and we will try again next Monday with another girl. We are done here.'

She left then and the surgeons left swiftly after clearing up.

Karolina was the first girl that was experimented on. Natasha was the fifth. She was the first to survive. Just barely, but it was good enough.


	13. Chapter 13

'There's red on my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out.'

They were in the holding room in which Clint had shook off the last of Loki's mind control just minutes ago. Clint did not respond to Natasha's statement, as they allowed everything unsaid to fill up the silence between the two of them. _I was so worried about you. I'm sorry for having to fight you. It wasn't your fault, Clint, it was all Loki._ Natasha could still remember the phone call she had received from Coulson a couple days ago, the chill that ran down her spine as she was informed that 'Barton's been compromised. She could still remember the fight in the helicarrier just hours ago,when he had detected her presence and turned around, as a nauseating sense of deja vu filled her as she stared into his emotionless blue eyes the shade of ice.

She was halfway through her trip down memory lane when Clint brought her back to reality by wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She let him. He had been her anchor for so long, she was more than willing to be his for as long as he needed her to be. She buried her face in his chest, breathed him in. After some time she pulled herself away from him then and looked up, their eyes met and instinctively she leaned forward to close the distance between their lips.

'I was so scared that you weren't going to come back,' she told him when they finally parted, as he gently placed his forehead against hers.

A jolt ran through him at that, a dark shadow flitted across his eyes as he turned away from her, eyes fixated at the wall at the other end of the room. 'What, like James?' he spat out bitterly. She knew why he asked that question- it was meant to hurt her- it reminded her a bit too much of how she used to treat him when she first joined SHIELD, how she pushed him away, distanced herself from him in every way he could, for fear that he would get too close, for fear that one day she would end up having to hurt him, the same way she had been made to hurt so many others of her friends before him.

'Clint,' she stated firmly, 'Don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to us. Please.'

He looks at her and could see his pain mirrored in her eyes. Regret plunged into him like a knife. It was wrong for him to bring it up. He buried his face in his hands, 'I am so sorry, Tasha.' He could still remember how that name 'James' had made its way into their lives. Natasha had been wheeled in on a gurney after a mission, a gunshot wound clean through her stomach, murmuring 'James James James' over and over as she was wheeled into the operating room, barely conscious, her eyes rolling about in her head as she seeked for something that only she could see. Clint had asked her about it later, when he came by to check on her after the operation which she had barely managed to survive. She had thrown a lethal glare at him and refused to talk to him for the rest of his visit.

'I met James back in the Red Room. He was the one who trained me and made me the Black Widow.' Natasha's willingness to respond took Clint by surprise.

He had been introduced to Natasha as the Winter Soldier, as her new mentor. He was firm but not cruel, unlike the many others before him. She could not remember how old she was then- it had been brought to her attention that the Treatments provided by the Red Room (the original one may have burned down, yet the superiors had still chosen to name the secret division within the Bolshoi the exact same thing) warped her growth, slowed it down, made the concept of 'age' mean nothing to her. She had been told that she could be eighty and still look not a day beyond twenty, if she wanted to. Because of that, she had stopped keeping track after she aged past 18. After all, age meant nothing in the Red Room.

There was something different about the Winter Soldier. That was the justification she had given herself when a sparring session had resulted in her being pinned to the floor and them looking into each other's eyes a bit too long, when she'd feel this flutter in her chest whenever they were together. One day they passed by each other in an empty corridor and he had gripped her arm tightly and whispered to her, a lost, a frightened look in his eyes (in the most unraveled state she had ever seen him in), 'Call me James,' (she had figured then that his name was not something he was supposed to know, that he had initially placed his life in her hands for if she were to tell any of her superiors they would almost definitely punish him). She had done so every single time they were sure that noone was listening. At some point, he gifted her with a kitten. It was a stray, with sleek black fur and an affinity to nudge against her and purr fondly whenever she scratched its underbelly. That was another one of their many little secrets (of course keeping pets in the Red Room was forbidden). Their relationship continued to grow after that. They'd hold hands under the table, kiss in the hidden corners of the training compund.

Yet despite their discretion, the Red Room found out. They always did.

She met James in the corridor one day. He was followed by two security guards, the hostility in their posture making it a bit too prominent that James was in trouble. A sense of foreboding filled her as she looked away from them. From the corner of her eye, she saw James restlessly tap his fingers against his leg. the rhythm was familiar. It was Morse code. She stiffened. 'Run'. He paused for three seconds. He tapped it again, this time more urgently. She nodded imperceptibly. The look in his eyes was enough for her to know that he had saw it. And all of a sudden he slammed his elbow into the nose of the guard behind him, kicking the other one right in the gut. And Natasha ran, as the alarm bells began to go off, as a steady stream of guards began to fill the corridors, running towards James's direction. Run. His message throbbed in her head. Run. She slipped into a medical room nearby to grab some Treatment pills, just in case (she was still young, still fearful of the rumours that the lack of Treatment pills meant death). She left the compound with minimal resistance. It appeared that all the security resources had been reallocated to James. A wave of concern and sadness ran through her as she thought of him. She knew full well that he had meant to act as a distraction so that she could leave and avoid whatever punishment that was meant for her. Of course, she chastised herself, of course they knew. She should have known better.

She folded herself in a nook of a building nearby to throw them off her trail, just in case they noticed that she was missing. She could see right into her bedroom window from this corner. It was where she was supposed to be, where all of them were supposed to be, at the time of the day. It was then that she noticed the black lump of fur on her bed from which a steady stream of blood was gushing from, staining her bedsheets with a blinding shade of crimson. Kitty.

Pulling a knife out from her boots, she dug it into her arm and pulled her Red Room tracker out. Just in time. It began to blip and she could feel bile rise up her throat as she decoded the message. 'Love is for children, Miss Romanoff. You should have known better.' It was then that purple, thick liquid began to leak out of her tracker. Poison. she recognized it. It was one of the most lethal ones, only activated when an agent had been defected. Of course. They had to eliminate her to get James to focus, to not be hindered in any way. She should have known. She turned around and ran and ran, the way James had told her to.

The Red Room had sent agents after her, and after she killed all of those who were sent after her, they stopped. Instead, they chose to reach a simple compromise with her. She would finish up the missions she was supposed to, and they would leave her alone, allow her to become a freelance agent, as long as she did not directly interfere with the KGB. She had continued with that compromise until the day she met Clint.

'James and I were close,' Natasha continued to tell Clint, choosing her words carefully. 'We dated until our superiors found out and tried to kill me.'

The next time she saw him was during the mission which had ultimately ended up with her on a hospital gurney, being wheeled into the SHIELD medical room. She was transporting this old professor of some sort on her motorcycle when he appeared from nowhere, a gun in his hands. She had allowed his name to slip out of her lips. Yet he turned around, his eyes devoid of any form of recognition, and it was then that she realised what it was that the KGB had done to punish him. It was then that he shot her.

'He was the one who shot me on that mission, but that wasn't him. The Red Room had done things with him-' her voice broke then, and Clint placed a hand gently on her shoulder. 'And then all that happened to you and I was so frightened that that would happen to you too.'

Clint held her close, running his hands through her hair, his heart aching as she completed her story. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and said, 'Tasha, your life sucks and every time I hear about your past I feel like stabbing everyone who had ever hurt you in the eye. I'd also be happy to continue talking to you about this whole Avengers thing but right now, I've just realised that Loki had not been very lenient with giving me pee breaks so I really need to go to the toilet right now.'

They never got around to talking about 'the whole Avengers thing'. By the time Clint was done, Cap had barged in and told them that there was work to do. And so they went off to save the world.


	14. Chapter 14

It was five days after the alien invasion and the entire team of Avengers were temporarily residing in one of Tony Stark's many mansions. It was a lazy Thursday night and all of them were in the living room. Bruce was on an armchair, listening to one of Tony's many life stories. Cap and Thor were arm wrestling whilst Clint kept score. Natasha had fallen asleep after dinner, curled up on Clint's lap like a cat.

'I'm bored, let's watch a movie!' Tony stated cheerily.

'What is this movie creature that you referred to, my friend?' Thor questioned in his usual booming voice.

'You don't know what a movie is?' Tony stared at Thor incredulously, 'The bunch of you on Asgardians are missing out on so much.'

'What should we watch?' Bruce asked mildly.

'Snow White, maybe?' Steve stated, flipping through his notebook of things to catch up with.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. Bruce tugged at Tony's sleeve, almost as if he was warning him to play nice, 'Sure, why not?' he said.

And that was how Earth's Mightiest Heroes ended up watching Snow White of all things one Thursday night.

It was when Snow White first entered the seven dwarves' home when Clint felt Natasha tense up in his lap. Pain seared through him as something sharp ripped into his arm and all of a sudden she was off his lap. Natasha crouched at the other end of the room in a defensive position, her eyes glazed and filled with a feral sort of fear. Everyone had sprung up then and were staring at her in surprise, unable to comprehend what exactly it was that had just happened.

'Nat? Nat.' Clint was careful to keep his distance as he attempted to get Natasha to snap out of it.

Her eyes focused then as what was left of the sleep and fear leaked out of her. She looked around, noting her shocked circle of teammates, Clint, and her eyes slowly ran down to his bleeding arm. Her eyes darkened.

'Oh, fuck.' She turned and left the room before anyone could respond.

There was a long period of silence between all of them before Tony became the one to break the ice, 'What the hell just happened?'

'Tony,' Bruce chastised as he strode over to examine the gash on Clint's arm. 'Good. This isn't deep. Steve, get me the first aid kit. Just hold still, Clint, I'll be done in a moment.'

Clint was about to open his mouth to protest, to say that he should go make sure that Natasha was okay first, when Tony pushed him down, 'Believe me, Little Miss Deadly would probably take it better if you walk in with a bandaged arm rather than one that's still dripping with blood.'

And so Clint stayed put and let them be.

True to his word, Bruce was done with him within five minutes and Clint immediately chose to leave the room to get to Natasha after telling the others to continue with the movie and reassuring them (or more specifically Tony) that he was going to be fine, that Natasha was not going to bite his head off for whatever reason.

Natasha was in her room, and she sprung to her feet as soon as he entered. Her eyes roamed down to his bandaged arm, 'Clint.'

'Nat-' he stepped forward.

'Please don't,' she murmured, backing up against the wall like a cornered animal. It pained him to see her like that.

'Flashback?' he asked directly.

'Yeah,' she murmured. She hesitated for a moment and added, 'That was how the Red Room taught me English. With Snow White. We'd watch it again and again and again until we could speak with a clear American accent. I woke up to it and... I just got scared.' Throughout the years, she had grown to be more and more accustomed to directly talking to Clint about her past. For she knew that he would never judge, that he would always understand.

'It happens to all of us, Tasha, it wasn't your fault.'

He could see something loosen within her as she plopped down onto the bed, 'I thought I'd managed to leave it all behind after so many years but guess what.' She laughed bitterly.

'Nat, our past will always be a part of us. Its what made us who we are today. We'll just have to live it down. Its going to be hard, I know, but you'll survive. You've always been a survivor.'

She stood up from the bed, walked towards him and buried her face in his chest, 'I'm so tired, Clint.'

'I know, I know,' he thought of Loki and the mind control he had been under, how he fought against Natasha, aiming to kill, how the guilt he had felt ever since then had been burning a searing hole in him.

She looked up at him then and he realized that she knew. She knew how Loki had broke him, how hard he had been holding on to this facade of normality, of how he just wasn't ready to talk about it just yet. And she was fine with it. She was willing to let him take his time, to tell her how he felt only when he was ready for it. She tore her eyes away from him, pressed her cheek against his shoulder as she murmured, 'Yeah, but we'll manage to pull through, the way we've always been able to. Together.'


	15. Chapter 15

Trigger warning: Mention of rape

The moment Clint entered his home, he immediately realised that he was not the only one in it. He flipped on the light switch and there she was. Natasha Romanoff, standing in the corner of the room. Her hair had been straightened and she looked more tired than he had ever seen her. He ran into her and hugged her as tight as he possibly could. 'Hey,' she murmured, gently encircling her arms around him. 'I was so scared,' he thought. 'When I first heard about what happened at the Triskelion, when I first heard about what you'd done during that face- off against Hydra. I was so worried when no one could locate you for four goddamn months. But it's okay now. You're here now.' He knew that he was rambling, that he was probably being a bit too up front and that might have frightened her, made her want to distance herself from him. But at that point, he couldn't care less.

She looked up at her then, with those clear green eyes of hers, always filled with emotions that one could never quite understand. And then she kissed him.

He pulled her into his bedroom, looking at her questioningly as he placed his hand on the doorknob. She nodded and so he closed the door.

Natasha pushed Clint onto the bed. She would have been lying if she were to say that she hadn't missed him, that she hadn't worried over how her SHIELD hack had distributed his information on the internet, information including his cover as a gangster in a certain vicious gang for the mission he was originally in. Thank god he had made it out more or less intact.

He trailed a line of kisses from her forehead to her nose to the crook of her neck and as she tilted her head slightly in response, he deftly flipped over so that he was on top. 'Feisty,' Natasha murmured against his mouth as they closed the distance between their lips once again. Clint chuckled as he pulled her tee over her head. She reached out, unbuttoning his shirt swiftly and pulling it off. He slowly began to make his way down, and when he was there, his mouth just inches away from her navel, a shiver ran through Natasha and she pushed him away. He looked up, surprised. She was crying. 'Nat?' he asked, concerned, careful to give her the space she needed. 'Sorry,' The sobbing intensified as she gathered the sheets around her. 'Sorry, I just can't do this, not right now.'

'Hey, hey, its all right. You don't have to be sorry for anything. I'll go sleep on the couch,' he told her.

Sleep did not come easy for Natasha Romanoff that night. The flashback that had stopped her from letting the only man she loved to truly be with her was seared behind her eyelids, the details clear as day.

The Red Room had very unique ways of training their recruits and making them good in the arts of men. One of the many ways was practice. Natasha had always been repulsed by the thought of sex, and having some Red Room bodyguard in her made the idea even more disgusting. Yet she had never found anything inherently wrong with it. It was painful, yes. Non- consensual, definitely. But sex, to her, was a weapon. Just like her entire existence. It did not belong to her. It belonged to them.

So maybe that was why she got so scared, because this time, what she was just doing with Clint actually meant something. She was no longer faking gasps and moans for some sweaty, flabby stranger, but actually doing it with someone who held her world in his hands. Someone who loved her despite how much she despised herself. Who loved her and was willing to have her despite how she had been through so many people beforehand. She would never be able to comprehend Clint's choice, yet she would simply have to live with it. Not that she minded it.

And so eventually, she floated off to a peaceful sleep, understanding that her past would always come back to haunt her, that this would not be the last time she'd be hearing from it. Yet there would always be Clint by her side, and he would always be willing to assist her in any way he could on her quest to piecing herself together, to wiping every single trace of red there was off her ledger. And for her, that was good enough.


End file.
